


Revolution

by Anonymous



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A ballroom, a dance (machine), and a night to remember.





	Revolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TereziMakara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TereziMakara/gifts).



Fuyuhiko finds her standing on the edge of a balcony, looking out to the garden and the stars. Her fingers twitch occasionally - no pockets to hide games in, he remembers - and she twists to look at him when he steps up to join her, his elbows on the railing, an arcade of light reflected in her eyes. "Tired?" he asks, and can't stop himself from watching the curve of her bare shoulder, the smile that crosses her mouth.

"Yeah," she says, "I can come back in a bit. Maybe."

"You know no-one'd care," he says, and raises his eyebrows at her. "We all know how you are."

She puffs out her cheeks in indignation. "I'm not that bad, am I? I do want to help out. After everything they've done for us... I wasn't useful in the end, not really. Not like..."

 _Hajime_ , he hears; _Akane, Nekomaru_ \- Peko still half-defaults to his orders, but even Mikan's picked up a trick or two. "You're not the only one who's practically useless out there," he says, instead. "If we were back in Japan, or I had my family... at least you know how to drive a tank."

She smiles, then, quicksilver sweet. "Sims. It's not that different, I think."

"Maybe we should play those, instead of that multiplayer shit Hajime always beats us at," he mutters, and she laughs.

"Hajime-kun'll beat us at everything," she says, "so we might as well pick something fun."

Speaking of. He takes her hand, tugging her back to the ballroom, and she follows him curiously without complaint. It's strikingly beautiful in that European way, and Chiaki shines in her new gown, her pink hair flattered by the shades of it, her complexion lit beautiful by the golden lamps around the room. For Fuyuhiko, none of this is really new; the tailoring's different than what he's used to, but he grew up in suits the way Chiaki did hoodies and trainers and videogame consoles, and he feels like he's stealing something precious when he pulls her out another door.

"Where are we going?" she asks, as he leads her down a deserted hallway. He counts three doors, then edges the next one open: nope.

"Should be..." He peers around the next corner, checking his memory against the corridor. "How's your minimap?"

"That way's north," she says, and points to the left wall. "This isn't an escort mission, is it?"

"Wayfinding," Fuyuhiko says, "though fuck knows why I'm the one who got this job. C'mon, I'm pretty sure it's this way."

"Pretty sure?" she repeats, giving him a look, and he scoffs and can't quite hide his smile as he leads her 'round to another door.

At least he's right, this time. When he opens the door the room's exactly as he left it: low light, a comfy couch, and a toweringly large-screen TV. Chiaki's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh!" she says, startled. "Fuyuhiko-kun, you didn't have to..."

"Taking all the credit again?"

Hajime's got the stealth of a cat now, and Fuyuhiko feels his sudden presence like a shiver up his spine, thrilling and familiar. He doesn't dress up, not really, and seeing him now - in a full European suit, three-piece, a waistcoat and tie - is like something of a dream, making it hard for Fuyuhiko to tear his eyes away. Rich fabrics, exquisite tailoring; he leans against the couch as Hajime takes Chiaki's hand and thinks he'd dress them up in finery like this every day if he could, have them both at his side at every meeting, a threat and a promise both.

"Yeah, sure," Fuyuhiko says, "who brought everything up here, again?"

"Me," Hajime says, eyebrows rising a little pointedly, and Chiaki bites her lip as she smiles.

"You brought up a DDR machine, too," she says, dropping to her knees to inspect the equipment, uncaring of the rustle of her gown. "Ooh, Hajime-kun, is this the unreleased edition? I thought all the copies were lost after..."

Hajime's smile turns faintly bashful, and Fuyuhiko's delighted by it, sidling up to him and straightening his tie. "You clean up nice," he says, and Hajime laughs.

"C'mon," he says, "I've worn stuff like this before."

"Not _like this_ ," Fuyuhiko says with emphasis, and straightens his cuffs for him. Hajime tilts his head down, and Fuyuhiko looks up; he traces the line of Hajime's eyebrows with his eyes, that strange mismatched gaze of his sparking a still-new warmth in Fuyuhiko's chest. "Sure you can't wear it every day?"

"I'm not you," Hajime says, wryly, and when he leans in their noses brush, and Fuyuhiko's attention is caught by the shadows beneath his eyes.

It's been tough on all of them, this life, but Hajime more than most. As the face of their operation he's a bogeyman at best, a monster at worst, and Ultimate Hope or not, it's obviously wearying from the stress around his eyes. Fuyuhiko's got it easy, he knows; he knows tactics and weapons and is never on the front lines, even as Chiaki chafes under her own restrictions, the stifling protectiveness they'd all felt once they'd found her body and mind still alive.

"Hey. This was for fun, right?"

Chiaki's come up to them, and slips her hands into both of theirs, tugging them along. "That means," she continues, "fun for all of us. We did everything we could today, and we should get a chance to relax. I think."

"This was for you," Hajime protests, and looks at Fuyuhiko as if for confirmation; Fuyuhiko smirks and unbuttons his suit jacket, slinging it over the end of the couch.

"I know how you feel about dancing," he says. "Boring, right? So let's make it a competition."

Hajime starts to smile. "Best of three?"

Chiaki taps a finger on her lips and narrows her eyes as she looks between them. "We'll stagger it," she says, firmly. "Hajime-kun, you're with me."

"And what's the prize?" Fuyuhiko rests his elbows on the couch as Chiaki starts up the machine, the blaring lights and electronic sounds a welcome reprieve from the heavy-handed classical music of the Novoselic ballroom, from the mess of the world still outside. It's a reminder and an absolution, a moment where they're just normal people living a normal sort of life, and Fuyuhiko wouldn't change any of it for Chiaki's enjoyment at every arcade, for a glimpse at Hajime's rare smiles. "A kiss?"

"I'm thinking... whoever wins gets to pick the next game," Chiaki says, "since you brought all of this here already. I wouldn't want it to go to waste."

Fuyuhiko can't help himself; he closes the distance between them and brushes his lips against her cheek. "For luck," he says as she beams, and Hajime's competitively blank expression cracks as he grins.

"Yeah? You'll need it."

They do.


End file.
